The Kitchen Boy
by Motek
Summary: "After ten years from the night of the revolution, he finally finds the way of getting out of this hell called Russia. And it is the Grand Duchess Anastasia herself." The journey from the streets of Russia to the nights of Paris; from pain to love. The story retold.


**A/N: Hello there! Long time no see, huh? And now I'm coming with the story from the animated movie. Well, I have _loved_ Anastasia ever since I was a kid and Dimitri and Anya were and still are my OTP, so I got the idea and wrote it. It is the story retold, without Rasputin and a little bit more realistic and with some more mature themes, but nothing more than T-rating. It's from Dimitri's point of view, because the movie focuses on Anya, but in my opinion he is the most interesting from all animated guys that have ever been drawn.**

**So enjoy and remember English is not my first language, I'm sorry for all mistakes.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except the story. Twentieth Century Fox does.**

* * *

**THE KITCHEN BOY.**

* * *

He is eight years old, when he sees _her_ for the first time.

She is dressed in a fancy pink dress, glistering with jewels, and her hand is firmly kept in her nanny's palm. Before she has a chance to notice him, he is pulled away by some female hands and led into the kitchen.

"From now on, you belong here," the old woman says.

He looks around. Although he's only a boy he knows his childhood has _once again_ ended.

* * *

For a child who doesn't even remember his parents and has to work for his living, he dreams a lot.

He dreams what his mother looked like, who his father was, how would it be to have toys instead of pans and plates in the kitchen.

He dreams what would it be like to be allowed to talk to the little auburn haired girl.

* * *

When he's ten years old, he sees her dance.

He's a boy, _a child_, a young one, he has no idea what the beauty is.

There has been no beauty in his life _ever_ and he doesn't hope it would change anyway, but somehow he _knows_ she _is_ beautiful.

* * *

He wakes up in the destroyed palace, in the princess' room. He knows the place too well to be wrong.

The night has passed.

The Bolsheviks have won.

The royal family is gone.

The only things that remain are his broken wrist and hope that _somehow, somewhere_ she has survived.

* * *

The next years are the constant fight for staying alive.

There is stealing, lying, running, then even more running. Life is hard and cruel, that is the only one thing he knows for sure.

When he meets Vladimir Vosilovich he is no longer a kitchen boy, because his place has been taken by the _conman_.

And conmen don't believe in princesses and happy endings.

* * *

He considers it really ironic, the fact that from all places in St. Petersburg they are living in the Royal Palace of Romanovs, but life has done worse things to him than this.

Hearing a noise from the ballroom, he gets up and curses the place once more. It's probably a wind, but he needs to check anyway.

The wind turns out to be a girl.

A girl turns out to be everything he's been looking for.

After ten years from the night of the revolution, he finally finds the way of getting out of this hell called Russia.

And it is the Grand Duchess, Anastasia herself.

* * *

They argue.

They argue like it is the only one thing that allows them to say a word to each other.

She storms out and he can't be more grateful when she does.

"An unspoken attraction," Vlad says, pretending it was meant for Pooka's ears.

"Attraction?"

It is his turn to get out of the suddenly much smaller train compartment.

Attraction! Between him and that skinny little brat?

He'd be damned if he ever let it happen.

* * *

The journey gets interesting.

They almost die when the train gets out of control, speeding to the destroyed bridge.

They jump.

Strange is the fact that the first thing he checks on after they're laying in snow is _her_.

* * *

During their trip to Germany she discovers what is happening around her (thank Vlad for that one).

She's furious at the beginning and knowing her for quite some time he was sure she would be. What he didn't know was that seeing the hint of hurt in her clear blue eyes would make him feel guilty.

He brushes it off and convinces her to agree with his plans.

He's a conman after all. At least that is what he believes.

* * *

She is _beautiful_.

He can't deny it, so to hell with anybody even trying. He works out the annoying habit of staring at her.

What is worse, she works out even more annoying habit of catching him doing so.

They both pretend nothing's happening and he can't tell if he is more _thankful_ or more _irritated_ about it.

* * *

He buys her a dress.

He buys her a dress and she makes fun of it (of course she would), but wears it anyway. He tells himself that he doesn't see the happy sparks in her eyes, when he leaves her to try it on.

He thinks he has to have really good taste, because when she shows up on the board wearing _the dress_ he can't take his eyes off her.

They dance. He almost kisses her, but sobers up in time and runs away.

He claims it was because of the dress.

As a conman he's good at lying, even to himself.

* * *

When they arrive to Paris everything happens so fast he no longer knows whether it's reality or just a little boy's dream.

They meet with Sophie.

"Finally, you'll most likely find this an impertinent question, but indulge me. How did you escape during the siege of the palace?"

Just when he's sure it's all going to blow in their faces right in this moment, she _actually_ answers the question. And she answers it with the truth he so desperately wanted to forget.

"There was a boy… A boy who worked in the palace… He opened the wall…"

* * *

She's the Grand Duchess, the _real_ Anastasia Romanova, the only heir of the Russian dynasty.

He can continue with more tittles in his head, but there is no point in it.

She is _the princess_, she found her family, she found her _home_ and he can't feel more miserable about it.

He is once again just a kitchen boy. A kitchen boy who has fallen in love with the princess.

He can no longer lie about it.

* * *

They go and see Paris with Sophie.

It's colourful and loud, and so different than St. Petersburg is.

He hates it with all his broken heart.

* * *

It's night and there is a knock on his door and it's probably just Vlad wanting to know details before seeing the Empress tomorrow.

He reluctantly opens the door, but there is no Vladimir there, only the tiny figure with messy auburn hair.

He worries immediately, he realises he always worries if it's about her.

"Is everything alright? Something's happened?"

He swears he can easily drown in her eyes, when he hears her answer.

"Yes, you."

His breath just dies in his chest when she kisses him.

There is a billion reasons why they can't be doing it, but hell if he can remember any of them.

He picks her up and heads for his bed, not for one moment breaking the passionate kiss. The grand tittles and painful pasts are forgotten as their clothes land on the floor.

He holds her as if the world is ending any minute now. He can't get enough of her sighs and moans and pleas. He whispers to her the words of adoration, but not a sound about love, because in all this mess, he still remembers that the next day she will be out of his reach, just like she always should have been.

But when he hears a quiet _I love you_ he can't help but kiss her like there is no tomorrow.

* * *

Vlad sees her as she's sneaking out of his room in the morning.

He catches the smug look on the old man's face, shakes his head and closes the door.

He can't help thinking, it all ends here.

* * *

He can't take it anymore; listening to Vladimir's frets and worries, he just cannot take it_ any longer._

So he tells him the truth.

"I was the boy. The boy in the palace."

The man's jaw drops for a minute before he's able to speak again.

"That means our Anya has found her family! We've found the heir to the Russian throne! And you-"

"Will walk out of her life forever," he says trying so hard to hide his face from the Russian.

"But-"

He holds up his hands; his voice harsh and firm.

"Princesses don't marry kitchen boys."

He's sure it is the most painful sentence he's _ever_ said in his entire life.

* * *

She slaps him and he most certainly deserves it.

She thinks he had used her for his own goods in every meaning of the word, unfortunately.

Seeing her this vulnerable and weak, with tears in her eyes as she's disappearing from his sight, just breaks his heart all over again, but it's alright.

He's got used to being hurt and broken. There is only one thing left to complete his quest and his misery.

* * *

The Empress doesn't leave, so it means she recognized her. He blows one last kiss towards the window and leaves.

* * *

"Ten million rubles, as promised, and my gratitude," the Dowager Empress states, motioning at the case with all the money he used to dream of.

But now there is only one thing in his mind; the woman with clear blue eyes and auburn hair, and he declines the money.

"Why the change of mind?"

He should not answer that one.

He should bow and run away, because that is the only one thing he is familiar with and the only thing he seems to do right in his life.

But he doesn't. Because he's already lost everything he cared for, so at least this one time he can tell the truth.

"It was more a change of heart."

And then he runs away.

* * *

He saves her.

She takes off after knowing he didn't take the money and with her luck of course, a mad man, yelling things about revolution and the mother Russia, attacks her during her chase after _him_, and he _saves_ her.

It's a little bit ironic, because he is no prince charming for her, she should have cursed him and stayed away, and yet here she is; gasping for air, in her damaged dress, looking so gorgeous he can't move an inch away from her.

"You were going to St. Peter-"

"I was."

"You didn't take the-"

"I couldn't…"

"Why?"

You know why, he thinks, but instead of answering he leans in and kisses her like that night in his room, when she came to him.

It's passion, it's relief and it's all love.

She grips his neck so tightly he's more than sure she is not going to let him go _ever_, and he falls in love with her_ all over again_.

* * *

Only a few hours later they're aboard the ship that will take them to Spain and there are only sighs and moans and whispers, which are floating in the hot air between them as they embrace and hold onto each other.

They move synchronously; her slender fingers digging into his back, his hands everywhere. She tenses underneath him for a moment before the bliss comes to both of them and they stay still, just looking at each other.

"I love you", he sighs, and then he says it again, and again, and again, as if he's not able to stop once he started.

She smiles lovingly before pressing their lips and bodies together and he knows he belongs to her; his heart finally whole and at peace.

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed, leaving a comment would be nice!**


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